


chaos theory

by Hieiandshino



Series: United States of Multifandom: English Edition [2]
Category: Pretty Deadly (Comics)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 04:43:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hieiandshino/pseuds/Hieiandshino
Summary: She used to call you a coward.(United States of Multifandom. Prompt 2:Ship you never wrote before. Unrevised work)





	chaos theory

**Author's Note:**

> _Pretty Deadly_ does not belong to me.
> 
> This is an unrevised work and English is not my mother language, so I'm sorry for the mistakes.

She used to call you a coward. Alice — never Big Alice, though that was the name humans gave her as she walked among them and drew fear from them with the same easy she used to draw her sword — always knew what to say to make you want to shoot or start a fight with her. She was always ready for either of one of those when it came to you and Molly used to tell you that it was because you were easily led.

Also, Molly used to tell you that what you both did was, in a way, flirting. You, always the smart mouth, reminded her that flirting with a gun or a sword was never the way you were thought to, by humans, but then again, neither of you — you, Molly, Alice — were human, so—

_so—_

When she becomes butterflies for the last time you watch, mesmerized, and reminds what humans told you everywhere about those creatures: that at the same time a butterfly would flap her wings, there was a hurricane somewhere.

Your hurricane had silver hair and scars she made herself with the tip of Ginny’s sword. Your hurricane liked to smoke and to use black even during the hottest summer and never once she smiled at you lovingly. Your hurricane was all smirks and pointed glares and would call you coward here and there.

Except for that one time.

Her admission then sure was a form to say goodbye, even though it took years and years for that to happen.

You still do not believe. You still stare at the butterflies and you scream in your mind for them to come back. You would assemble them back into Alice if you had to, if Sissy wouldn’t, if—

_if—_

You understand now what Death felt when He knew He had to say goodbye to Beauty and went mad with this feeling.

What comes out of your mouth is a whine, loud and pained that makes Ginny stare at you. She still has the same cold eyes even when her greatest friend is leaving — a hurricane of Alices that will never become Alice again — and you suddenly feel ashamed for feeling.

You feel angry too.

Molly pats your head before she crouches down and hugs your coyote form. You hide your muzzle in her bony shoulders. It’s not so bad, you think. It could be worse. It could be Molly, a single raven flying away from you.

Still, the pain—

_this pain—_

—never leaves you and is that true love? Is this why Death went mad? Is this why Sissy hides and never leaves the Garden?

What a horrible thing. You don’t want to fall in love ever again.

This wish comes true.

Years will pass before the pain subdues, becomes numb like a scar — still visible, as long as you live

( _and you will live long enough to see the pain as part of you, of your personality, of who you are and so will others: this is Johnny Coyote, reaper of bad odds, who fell in love with Big Alice, long dead, and still feels it. Still feels it and the laughter in the background is Death’s, oh, he must have been having a blast from wherever he is_ )

—, but you won’t forget, or forgive, or stop loving what now is a blurred dream inside your ( _im_ )mortal soul.

Sometimes, however, when you’ll be running as a man or as a coyote, you will look in the horizon and see a butterfly like Alice: orange and black, flapping her wings and creating hurricanes. It always seems to be watching you.

You will wonder what would happen if you stretched your arm towards it. If it would fly away or fly to you, land on your fingers or on your muzzle, kiss your skin with its delicate form as if it remembered who it was before it became only an insect ( _yours_ ).

You, however, will never do it, because the odds are never in your favor. It’s your nature.

She used to call you a coward. Maybe she was right, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I should be writing my thesis, but no, let's write fanfic about your research instead of actively analyzing it. It's not like it has been around for over five years, right?


End file.
